


please remember me

by artsypolarbear



Series: Clexa Oneshots [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 19:15:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6820726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artsypolarbear/pseuds/artsypolarbear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke wakes up in a new world, in a new body that looks the same as the old, and with a new identity. She's Elyza Lex, she knows this, she knows all of Elyza's life - Elyza is her, but she is also Clarke.</p><p>She finds some others, people she recognizes from her past life, but none remember a thing.</p><p>She searches and prays that she'll find her.</p><p>No matter what the outcome, she has to find Lexa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	please remember me

**Author's Note:**

> got a fic prompt so i wrote this instead of studying but it's great so it's ok

The first thought that crosses your mind when you wake up is regret.

_She was right._

You’re in a new body, a new world, your mind is new as well, but your soul – your soul is the same. The air tastes different, the ground beneath you feels different. Everything is different, save for you, the you inside.

You open your eyes and for a moment, you’re blinded by the blaring sunlight shining in your face. You’re laying in rubble, a rock is pressing hard into your spine, and you dart up.

Too fast.

You stumble down a little hill of rocks and only barely catch yourself before you fall face-first into the concrete.

That’s when you first see them.

Walkers, you later learn.

You don’t really care. All you care for is surviving.

You’re not sure how you know what to do or why you have to kill them, but you do. You strike their heads off as though they’re piñatas – the Clarke-you doesn’t even know what a piñata is, but you do. You’re not entirely Clarke anymore, you realize that when you’re standing amidst a pile of undead rotting corpses, panting, one hand holding a gun and the other holding a baseball bat.

There’s a car nearby, and you go over to see what you look like.

You look the same, except different. Same blond hair, same face, same eyes…but the look in them is different. You no longer look burdened, you no longer feel burdened.

There’s nobody relying on you. You know you’re alone, and, for the first time, you truly realize it.

You love it.

Freedom. That’s what’s different, you realize, you look and feel free. You’re wearing a leather jacket and ripped dark jeans, a t-shirt with a logo for a band you’d never heard of in your life and yet you know you love it.

You regret not believing in reincarnation when she first spoke of it.

You find keys in your pocket, and without even truly thinking, your feet lead you to a side alley where you’d left your motorcycle. It’s a beast, you half feel as though you’d die if you got on it, but you’re not scared. You know you’ve ridden it a thousand times. For you, in this world, this bike is an extension of your body just as much your horse was in your old world.

You climb on and set off down the road. You have no aim, no direction, just the open road and nowhere to be.

Still, something draws you to the sea.

You’re not quite sure what or why, but you follow your instincts and head off down to the coast.

* * *

You’re halfway across a state called Nevada when you find your first one.

She looks exactly like Raven, she has the same hair and same eyes and same smirk.

Without even thinking, you call out her name.

She turns to look, and for a moment, you think she recognizes you.

“Sorry,” she says. “I think you’ve got me mixed up with someone else.”

A walker shows up behind her and you shoot it’s head off without thinking. She shrieks and crouches, you don’t miss the fact that she’s now got two functioning legs.

“What the fuck!?”

You roll your eyes and gesture at the walker’s remains behind her.

“Might wanna watch out,” you grumble.

The brunette glances behind her, wipes at her forehead and nods. “Oh. Thanks for saving my life.”

“No problem.”

“You want to come in for dinner? It’s just me, but I’m a good cook. I made tacos.”

You eye her carefully. “What’s your name?”

“Lyndsay. You?”

You falter. You haven’t thought about a name. You don’t want to use your old name. This is a new world, and you don’t want to use an old name in a new world.

“Elyza,” you stammer.

You’re not sure where it comes from, but it fits.

 _Elyza Lex_ , you think to yourself. It fits, you haven’t a clue of where it came from, but it fits.

You eat tacos with Lyndsay and come to the conclusion that she is Raven, only different and unaware of the fact.

You thank her for the tacos, and stay for the night. You sleep on one of the couches, she sleeps upstairs.

Come morning, you’re gone.

You’ve left a little note for her, though.

_If you ever need me, call. –Elyza_

It’s got your number scribbled under it. You’re not quite sure why, but you want to give her something. She’s alone, like you are, and you felt bad in that moment where you had your hand on the doorknob and your foot halfway through the door.

You get back on your bike and ride off, back towards the sea.

You have somewhere to be, though you’re yet to figure out what that somewhere is.

* * *

When you stop on the border of the two states, you come across two at once.

It’s Lincoln, you’re sure of it, and Octavia – they’re together, of course they are, except Lincoln’s name is Rick and Octavia’s is Marie, and they’re not very friendly.

You understand. After all, you do find them in the middle of a swarm of walkers. You shoot the walkers, every single one, finish them off and help them.

When the last one drops to the ground, they stare at you in awe.

For a moment, you think they’re remembering, and you smile as you say, “You’re welcome.”

Marie smiles back, and Rick just nods.

“Thanks.”

They set off, and you’re left staring after them. It’s obvious they don’t remember.

You don’t understand why you can remember when nobody else can. It makes no sense to you.

As you drive further towards the sea, a glimmer of hope sets into your heart. The glimmer grows with each new familiar face you find, with who you’ve started to call ‘reincarnations’. Because that’s what they are, really. There’s no other explanation.

If everyone else is here, so should she.

You don’t look, you don’t know where you’d start, but you hope. Every brunette you see, you make an effort to make sure it isn’t her. Every giggle, every person who even remotely resembles her – you see them, note them, and pray that at some point, you’ll find her.

* * *

The house had seemed like a good place to hide out for the night. You’d found wine, and crackers, and had yourself a fun night.

Then, in the middle of your sweetest sleep, there’s a loud crashing noise.

You don’t even stop to think before you jump out of bed, fully-clothed as always, and grab your bat.

The walkers come in a while later, and after effectively wrecking the rest, you pursue the last one into a room that you hadn’t yet been in.

It takes a while, but in the end, you strike it so hard it’s head literally smashed to pieces.

“Ew. No breakfast for me,” you mutter as you wipe the remains of it’s brains off your bat onto the frilly bedspread next to you.

Something under the walker’s arm catches your eye. You use your bat to shove it off, only to reveal a yearbook underneath, sprawled open.

It isn’t the book that caught your eye. No, it’s the face in the picture on the page.

Your heart leaps to your throat and you grab the book as quick as you can when you recognize her face. It’s her, you know it is, she looks younger and somehow softer, less battle-worn – she’s smiling, too, you’ve only seen her smiling a few score times, and never like this. It’s bright, beautiful, and you let out a little laugh as you trace your thumb over the edges of the picture.

You clean the book from walker-guts with a towel you find, you cleanse every single speck of dust and blood and grime off of it, and then, you settle into an armchair to look through it.

 _Alicia Clark_ , you read, that’s her name now. Her last name makes you laugh a little. She’s not in too many pictures, but more than plenty. You look through them all, and always come back to the page with her face, her name, her senior quote.

Her senior quote makes tears well up in your eyes.

_Maybe life should be about more than just surviving._

You close the book and hold it to your chest as tears well up once again in your eyes. Your heart aches, it’s ached for years now, you’ve been in pain ever since she was gone.

You still have nightmares about her death.

A flash runs through your mind, of your hands, black with her blood, her face so peaceful after she’d closed her eyes and breathed her last breath. The last touch of your lips to hers makes you gasp for air, and you curl up in a ball, unable to keep your composure.

“Lexa,” you whimper, her name rolls off your tongue so easily, it’s sweet and short and familiar, but it has a painful taint upon it. A name that once made your heart warm now makes it twist and ache in pain.

You need her.

You have to find her.

After a while, you come to the realization that the house you’re in is most likely the house her reincarnation has grown up in. As though in a haze, you start going through the thrashed remains of what must’ve once been a very nice house, in search of any memories of her.

You find pictures amidst the rubble, and they make you cry as much as they make you laugh. There’s pictures of her as a baby, with cute chubby little cheeks and her green eyes big and beautiful; there’s a picture of her first day at school, the backpack’s so big that she looks tiny and adorable. There’s a painting she must’ve made when she was very little, of a flower made with hand-prints – it’s addressed to Mommy, you don’t know who that is, but you smile nevertheless.

In her room, you find a picture of her at prom, with a boy with dark skin and a shining smile with his arm around her waist. She looks beautiful and happy in her gown, dark red and reminiscent of the gown she wore during the summit – you smile at the memory of the summit, of her war-paint and the determined look in her eye. In the old world, she’d had a burden, like you’d had.

Here, she has no burden. Here, she’s just a young girl, like you are.

You look further, and you find a picture of her kissing the same boy from the prom picture.

Your heart sinks when you suddenly realize that she probably doesn’t remember, either.

She probably wouldn’t even want you even if you did find her.

You take a few of the pictures out of the frames, mostly the ones of her as a kid, and put them in between the yearbook.

When you leave the house, you don’t look back. You have the yearbook in your backpack, and it’s all you need.

Of course, you’ve also taken a hoodie from what you presume to be her room. You know it’s hers, because it’s got her last name printed on the back – she’s been on the swim team, it looks like, and you could swear you recognize the scent lingering on the soft fabric of the hoodie. It’s comforting, and much warmer than the flimsy t-shirts you have. You tell yourself it’s just a convenience, but you know it’s a lie.

You took it because it’s hers, and you love it because it’s hers.

When you set off on the road, your need to get closer to the sea amplifies. You almost know where you’re headed now, not quite but almost – it’s agonizing, not knowing where to turn until you’re there, it’s a twist in your gut that you follow without question.

You’re scared now.

You fear she won’t want you, but you know you have to find her nevertheless.

You have to see her, even if it is only for her to stare at you blankly with no recognition in her eyes.

Perhaps she will recognize you. Perhaps, against all odds, she’ll remember.

You know it’s unlikely that she’d remember, but you don’t care.

You just _have_ to find her.

* * *

You’re not sure what draws you to the ship, but you go in anyway.

There’s racket on the upper levels, and you sneak up to the scene of what looks like a fight. There’s a man, and there’s a girl with brown hair.

You’d recognize her anywhere, and when the sunlight does allow you to see better, your hunch is confirmed.

It’s her, and you forget to breathe.

She spits some words to the man, and then, all of a sudden, she’s run off the edge and jumped.

You almost cry out, but catch yourself before you do. There’s people around, the man’s wielding a gun, and you don’t want to be exposed.

You crouch behind a barrel and wait until you hear his footsteps disappear. That’s when you rush over to the edge, only to catch a glimpse of her sitting in a dinghy, disappearing into the distance. You curse, loudly, you found her and you lost her.

It was so close.

That night, you cry yourself to sleep in the tent you’ve set up in a little cave, your gun cradled against your chest as you shed bitter tears of loneliness and heartache. You need her so badly you hurt, you want to find her and speak to her so badly you feel like you can’t breathe.

You lived years in the old world without her.

You no longer care about your old world. So far as you’re concerned, whatever may have come after she died is of no matter. You’d worked hard to save your people, to assimilate them into the grounder culture. There’d been battles, there’d been fights. There’d been death, and pain, and misery.

It’d been fine when you’d died.

You’d caught some illness, and you hadn’t had the energy to fight it like everyone wanted you to. It’d been vicious, something that made your mother cry when she got the test results back, and you’d cried too.

You’d left in peace, and woken up in a new world.

To you, this world is paradise, because in this world, Lexa is still alive.

You fall asleep with the salt of your tears on your lips, with the pain of your sobs still making your chest ache, and you sleep a dreamless sleep.

* * *

A month passes, and you fail to find her. You’re trying now, you’ve found yourself a boat and even learned how to captain it. You haven’t seen her anywhere. You’ve sailed up and down the coast, searching, looking, but you haven’t found her. Each night, you sit in your boat and gaze up at the stars, and wonder if she’s looking at them too.

You worry about her. You worry that she’ll get infected, that she’ll get struck by a walker – you worry that she’ll die before you even get the chance to talk to her.

One day, you meet Finn.

His ship’s overrun by walkers, he’s the only one alive, and you help him.

You never catch his name. All you do is help him back to shore and tell him to take care.

You’re happy to see he’s found his place in this world, too.

It’s then, when you’re still docked on shore, that you see her again.

She’s walking on the beach, arms crossed – she looks mad, and you forget to breathe again when she comes closer.

You tie your boat to a nearby rock and rush after her.

“Hey!”

She stops and turns around, and stares at you blankly. When you catch up to her, your heart sinks when you realize she doesn’t recognize you.

“Who are you?” she asks, and you half want to sink away and die.

“I’m Elyza,” you say. “Are you alone?”

She shrugs and kicks the sand. “Does it look like I’ve got company?”

She’s younger than you in this world, her hair’s up in a ponytail and she’s wearing a sweater and shorts. She’s drenched, she looks like she’d just walked out of the sea, and you can’t tear your eyes off of her.

“What are you staring at?”

Your face flushes. “Nothing. Are you okay?”

“Why do you care?”

“You’re a lonely girl walking in the middle of an area infested with walkers. And you haven’t got a single weapon.”

“I can take care of myself,” the girl scoffs. “I’m going to keep walking, if you’ll let me, _Elyza.”_

You want to ask her, but you don’t. You’re left there, staring dumbly after her as she storms off, up the stairs to the beach boulevard and off down somewhere.

But then you notice a bunch of men on the roofs of the buildings before you, ones you didn’t notice before.

They have guns, and they’re pointing them at her.

 _No,_ you think, _not again. Never again._

And then you’re running after her, you grab her arm and yank her behind a car when the first shot whizzes past you two and hits the ground where she was standing not a moment before. She cries out in surprise, but you drag her back down when she tries to get up, you hold her wrist and hiss: “Stay down unless you want to die.”

She stares at you with her green eyes wide, and you want nothing more than for her to remember and come closer.

She doesn’t. She pulls her hand from your grasp and curls up against the car. “ Now what?”

You shrug and glance at the men. “I don’t know. Why’re they shooting at you?”

“How should I know? For all I know, they’re after you,” she snaps.

You sigh. “Look, we’ve gotta go somewhere. We can’t stay here.”

“We could die,” she points out. “And what we?”

“You’re coming with me,” you decide. “You’re alone and I won’t let a pretty girl like you go out on her own to die.”

You’re not sure where the words or the confidence come from, but her bafflement amuses you.

“I can take care of myself.”

“I’m sure you can, but I’ve got a boat and a gun.”

“Are you threatening to kidnap me?”

“No, I’m offering you a way to survive.”

She chews her lip and taps her fingers against her knee as she thinks.

“Okay, fine. Now tell me, Elyza, how are we supposed to get out of this?”

You glance at the edge of the boulevard. “Roll over there, hide, and run.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

You do as you’d described, you roll over and half drop over the edge of the boulevard, about three feet down to the beach. There’s a gunshot, but it doesn’t hit you.

She shrieks as she follows you, falls less gracefully than you did, but gets through unscathed nevertheless.

“Come on, Alicia,” you say, gesturing at the low shrubs a couple hundred feet to your left.

She furrows her brows, and you freeze when you realize she never told you her name.

“How do you know my name?”

“You told me,” you shrug. You set off running, hoping she’ll think she just forgot, and thankfully she doesn’t bring it up again.

You get to your boat, and she doesn’t even ask as she jumps in. You push it off the shore and you two set off to the open ocean, far away from the snipers pursuing you.

You laugh when you dare, and she looks at you, bewildered.

“What?”

“They probably thought we were walkers,” you tell her. “No surprise, you look like you’ve been drowned in the sea.”

She frowns and crosses her arms across her chest. “So now I’m stuck with you. Great.”

“Better me than a walker.”

She shrugs and looks away. “I suppose.”

The next hour passes with her sulking and you stealing glances at her whenever you can. Your heart is exploding, she’s there, she’s alive, she’s _with you_ – but she doesn’t remember you, she thinks you’re some maniac, and you don’t know what to say to get her to remember.

Later that night, she curls up in your bed, which you’ve offered generously to her. You stay up and continue steering the boat through the waves, you watch her sleep and wonder what or how you could ever tell her what you know.

A few hours later, she wakes up, and offers to take a turn steering so you can sleep.

“You need sleep too,” she mutters.

You nod and curl up in the bed – well, it’s not as much a bed as it is a pile of blankets and pillows in the rear of the boat, near the rudder.

You’re woken a while later by her hands shaking you awake.

“Hey, wake up.”

You snap awake – you’re sweating, there are tears on your cheeks, and you quickly realize you were dreaming about her death again. Your hand darts to your gun, but she stops you.

“It’s okay,” she says quickly, placing a hand on your arm. “You’re safe.”

“You were having a nightmare,” she adds quietly.

You take a deep breath and sit up, curling into a ball against the edge of the boat. “Thanks.”

She nods and sits down beside you, too. The boat’s not moving much, the waves move it a few feet every now and then.

“Who’s Lexa?”

You freeze.

“Sorry, shouldn’t have asked,” she mutters.

You don’t know what to tell her, but you try anyway. “Lexa’s…she was mine,” you say quietly. “Once. A long time ago.”

“What happened to her?”

_She died and was reincarnated into you._

But you don’t say that.

“She died.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. She’s happier now, I think.”

“Well, she’s not stuck in this shit-hole of a world, that’s for sure,” Alicia mutters.

You chuckle.

You’re entirely oblivious to the inner workings of Alicia’s mind, you continue playing with your hands as she tries to figure out why the name Lexa makes her feel as it does. She’s confused, and she doesn’t like it.

But you are unaware of this. All you see is her twirling a lock of hair around her finger and staring at the stars, and you smile.

“It’s just you,” Alicia says after a while. “Alone, right?”

You nod. “You’re alone too, aren’t you?”

She shrugs. “I am now.”

“You weren’t before?”

“I was with my family.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“They’re not dead,” she says quietly. “I don’t think they are. I just got lost.”

“Oh.”

“I just got lost,” she repeats, more to herself than to you.

“You’ll find them,” you say. “I’m sure.”

“Mm, I suppose.”

* * *

A week later, you’re about to burst.

You want to tell her, but you’re sure she’ll think you’re insane. You don’t want her to leave.

But, as it turns out, the universe decides to give you a little push.

She wakes you up one day with a rough shove and a furious glare.

“Care to explain why you’ve got my yearbook and my hoodie?”

You stare at her for a while, and she smacks you. “What are you, some creepy stalker? How’d you even find these?”

You still don’t know what to say. “I- Look, Alicia, I-“

“This is really creepy, okay? I don’t know the first thing about you, and you seem familiar but I- it’s weird!”

You sigh. “If I told you, you’d think I was insane.”

“I already think that. Now tell me, I’ll be damn interested to hear your explanation for this.”

You fumble with your hands when you speak.

“I…um…you don’t believe in reincarnation, do you?”

She shakes her head and crosses her arms across her chest.

“Okay, look- I’ve met you before. In a past life.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“Bullshit.”

“Your name was Lexa. You were the Commander of the 12 clans, the Earth had been destroyed by atom bombs and your people were what were left – you led them, you were this age, and people respected you.”

“That’s a scifi novel, and you’re insane.”

“My name was Clarke.”

That strikes her, you see that – her eyes widen a little bit, and hope flares up in your chest when you think she remembers.

 _Please remember me,_ you think. No, it's more like a prayer, you pray that she remembers.

Instead, she just scoffs.

“What next? You gonna tell me we were friends or something?”

You swallow the lump in your throat and sigh. “Um…more than friends.”

“What? Lovers?”

You shrug and look away. Your face is red, your chest is aching, but you can’t even look at her.

“You know the quote you chose for your senior page?” you ask, your voice quiet.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“How’d you think of it?”

Alicia falters, you hear it, and when you glance at her, you see poorly concealed confusion.

“I don’t know. It sounded good.”

“That’s what I said to you, to Lexa, so many times.”

She stares at you, and you’re sure now that you’ve lost her.

“Nope, not possible.”

“I loved Lexa – I loved you.”

“I’m not Lexa,” Alicia mutters. “Besides, how’d she even die? Did you die, too?”

“Yes, I died. And you died too.”

“How?”

“You got shot.”

Her brows furrow, and you’re left confused.

“Where?”

“In the stomach. A little below your ribs.”

Her eyes widen then, and you want to ask why – but instead, she lifts her shirt up, to reveal her stomach, paler than it was in your world, the old one, but still the same one you once pressed kisses to.

There, a few inches from her ribs, is a round scar, it looks like a birthmark, but it’s way more prominent.

“There?”

You stare at the scar, and you recall once again the way she’d died.

“Exactly…right there.”

She drops her shirt down and huffs. “It’s not possible.”

“Ask me anything. Please.”

She looks at you, and she sees the pain in your eyes.

For a moment, she tries to think of something to say. But then she just shakes her head, and says:

“I don’t remember. I’m sorry.”

You nod. “I get it. It sounds crazy.”

She nods and moves off to the other side of the boat.

You don’t stop her.

* * *

A week passes, and she’s barely speaking to you.

You understand, and endure the pain in your heart in silence.

You dock for a supply run, and even then you don’t speak.

She leads and you follow. After some tries, you settle on a beach house full of spoiled foods and overturned cabinets.

She finds a bottle of vodka, and grins wildly.

“At least we’ve got something to drink,” she says, and for a moment, it’s as though the awkwardness has dissipated altogether.

You smile and reach into a cabinet, retrieving a bag of beef jerky. “And food, too.”

She laughs, and your chest grows warm.

That night, you and her sit on the edge of your boat, swinging your legs over the edge as you pass the bottle back and forth.

She drinks more than you do. Or, well, she gets drunker than you do.

“How’d you die?”

You shrug and kick your foot at the waves. “I got sick.”

“Lame.”

“Painful,” you mutter.

She grins and lies back with a sigh. “You’re insane.”

“Why?”

“Reincarnation…even if it was real, what are the odds we’d find each other again?”

You shrug. “Impossible.”

“Exactly.”

She’s staring at you now, and you feel your cheeks burning with heat.

“But, you know…” you begin, and she sits up to hear you better. “You’ll remember, I think. Maybe someday.”

You don’t think much of the words you say, but when you’ve spoken them, you realize you’ve said them before.

She does too.

“Oh my god.”

You look at her, and see a glimmer of something – realization, she doesn’t remember fully, but there’s something there.

Your heart cries out in pain, it’s so close to what it wants, but you don’t move as she stares at you, mouth open and eyes wide.

“I’ve- I could swear I’ve heard that before.”

You nod, but you don’t say a thing.

She stares at you for a long while, but then the boat dips, some higher waves hit it, and she falls against your shoulder, and giggles – you freeze, she’s touching you, she’s so close, and you just want to hold her even closer, but can’t.

She moves her head up, but doesn’t move away.

She looks at your lips, and your heart stops.

She kisses you, and your entire soul feels as though it’s found it’s home again.

The kiss is sloppy and tastes like vodka and _her_ , her hand’s on your cheek and lips on your own, and you feel a pain in your chest. You feel as though you’d cry, she’s there, she’s alive – and then you sigh something that breaks the moment.

“Lexa.”

Her eyes burst open and she draws away.

“I’m not Lexa,” she says, and gets up.

She stumbles away, as far as she can on the tiny boat, and you’re left there with her taste on your lips and the ache in your heart so great you’re sure you’ll die.

You don’t hear what she mumbles to herself.

“No, it can’t-”

She’s a mess, she’s remembering, but you’re not there to see it.

You cry a little, you can’t help yourself, you were so close to what you wanted, but not quite there.

She doesn’t want you, you’re sure of it now, not in the way you need her.

You curl up in the corner of the boat and cry, you hide your face and pray she can’t hear your muffled sobs.

You don’t hear the footsteps, or the rustle of her clothes as she crouches in front of you.

When her fingers touch your shoulder, you jump.

“Hey.”

You sniffle and wipe your eyes, you look away, you don’t want to look at her and feel anymore pain.

“Hey, Clarke.”

Your heart stops.

Her other hand comes to gently touch your face, her fingers push your head back to look at her, and there’s a different look in her eyes now.

She’s smiling, and there are tears in her eyes.

“Clarke,” she says again, and your heart twists in pain.

“If you’re trying to make me feel better, stop,” you mutter. “I know you’re not Lexa.”

She kneels in front of you, she brings your hands into her own, and you’re unable to even properly speak. “No, Clarke – or Elyza – I remember.”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t believe her. You want to, but you can’t let yourself.

She tugs at your hands, and you move in closer without even thinking. Her hands leave your own and push your knees apart a little, enough for her to be able to move in between them and come closer. You half want to back up, but you’re cornered.

When her lips touch your own, it’s home all over again.

You whimper, and a new set of tears well up in your eyes. She smiles and pulls away a little, and wipes away your tears.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “I should’ve remembered.”

And that’s when you finally accept it, let yourself believe – you throw your arms around her neck and draw her in, closer, you bury your face in her neck and you cry. She’s startled but settles in quickly, moving you two so that she’s in your lap, she wraps her arms around your waist and hugs you, holds you close, so close you can almost feel your hearts beating as one.

You’re still sobbing into her shoulder, unable to contain yourself.

“I’m so sorry I left you,” she murmurs into your hair. “I’m so sorry I forgot about you,” she adds, and you hear the pain in her voice.

You let out a shaky sigh and tighten your arms around her, and in response, she tightens her own hold of you.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

“I’m sorry I didn’t,” she whispers back. “Had I remembered you, I’m sure I would’ve.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t, Clarke-“

“Elyza,” you correct her. “You’re Alicia, and I’m Elyza. This is a new world, new names.”

She nods, and you finally draw away from her neck to look at her. She’s crying silent tears, and you kiss her gently, the feeling of having her so close making your heart ache with joy. 

You haven’t been this happy in years.

“Elyza,” she says quietly. “I-I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you tell her. “I found you, and everything’s all right.”

She lets out a little laugh, and kisses you again. “I love you.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say.

“I – well, Lexa, it’s confusing, I’m Lexa but I’m also Alicia-“ she shakes her head. “Nevermind, that’s just confusing. I should’ve said it sooner, because I loved you back then, and now-“

“I love you too,” you say.

Your voice breaks, and she smiles.

“You should’ve believed me,” she murmurs as she leans in for yet another kiss.

You kiss her and forget what she was saying and the question that had arisen from it.

“What do you mean?” you ask when you do remember.

“My spirit did choose wisely,” she tells you. “It chose a girl in a world where once again, there’s war and pain, but somehow, it chose one that you’d find…”

You smile. “Our spirits are intertwined, I think.”

She nods and kisses your cheek. Her fingers are laced with yours, she’s close and there and _alive_ , and that realization forces you to let out another sob. She’s confused, but she holds you anyway as you cry, once again.

“You died,” you whimper amidst sobs, “You died, you died in my arms, and I never- I missed you so much, for years, I tried to live but it wasn’t the same without you…”

“Shh,” she whispers, “Don’t think about that. It’s all okay now. You’re okay.”

You let out another whimper, and she adds: “You’re safe.”

That night, you lay down in bed with her, and refuse to let go. She holds you just as tight, and neither of you want to ever let go.

A month later, you find the ship her family is on. They’re alive, and she cries from joy, and then she introduces you to them.

She introduces you as her girlfriend, and they’re confused, but they welcome you. There’s brothers and a mother and laughter, and hugs, and it’s so confusingly domestic amidst the apocalypse you’re all living in.

She’s different here, she’s still Lexa, but she’s also Alicia. She’s free, she’s snarky, she’s got a wit and she’s funny – she kisses sweetly and fucks rough, she sleeps soundly and never wakes up before noon. She swears a lot and she’s adorable, and with each passing day, you fall in love with Alicia, until one day, you love Alicia as much as you love Lexa.

She’s Lexa, and she’s Alicia. She’s both, and you love them equally, because they make up the one person with whom you feel like you’re able to breathe freely.

You’re more skilled at killing walkers than she is. You make jokes about it, and sometimes she’ll glower and get fussy about it. But she still has that air of the Commander, the ability to command a room without really trying, and it’s those little things that keep you reminded of what used to be.

In this world, you’re amidst another crisis, and you’re happy.

She loves it when you serenade her with your ukulele, and she’s still got an obsession with candles. She’ll sometimes murmur some words in trigedasleng, often in her sleep, and you find it absolutely adorable.

The first time you see her bleed, you freeze. It’s only a paper cut, but seeing her blood, red as your own, reminds you that this is a different world. In this world, she isn’t a leader, she isn’t different in that sense – she’s like you, she has no burden.

Neither of you do, and you both relish your freedom to simply exist just for yourselves.

She has a soft spot for kids, and when you find an abandoned baby hidden in some wreckage, she doesn’t even hesitate to name him Aden. A few years later, you recognize his features, you see the blue eyes and the determined brow, and realize that he, too, is a reincarnation.

Two becomes three, and then three becomes four when you find yet another lonely child. You’re happy, and you’re alive. It doesn’t matter that the world is going to hell, or that your lives are in danger more often than not.

She’s alive, you’ve found her, and you’re determined never to lose her again.

**Author's Note:**

> i haven't watched a single ep of ftwd but i've read some lexark fics n shit so i think i got the gist? idk  
> leave kudos&comments if you liked, they're the bread and butter of your lovely resident fic writer


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